


Don't Make A Sound

by aoralfixation (orphan_account)



Series: Baise-moi au clair de lune [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dark Sherlock, Detective, Emotional Hurt, Killer Sherlock, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Possessive Sherlock, Serial Killer Sherlock, Sherlock - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, murders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/aoralfixation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look so beautiful with the blood running down your skin; it makes me just want to ruin you even more,"</p><p> </p><p>During the summer, sixteen year-old Francis Clarke goes to Britain of the hopes of interning for his career choice, much to his mother's disdain, as a detective. It is there that he meets the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Watson. </p><p>Despite warnings from others, he continues working with him, he even starts a sexual relationship with Lestrade.  That is, until there is one case where they aren't trying to find the killer; the killer has already found them. </p><p>The killer was Sherlock.</p><p>Francis knew it was him, but he didn't know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

 

The woman walks through the street, clutching her umbrella as the rain fell from the dark, vast sky; she hears footsteps behind her, but there is no one as she turns around. She shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers to the beat of the music she was listening to.

                

Then there it was again, that eerie feeling, that eerie feeling that some was watching her.

 

Then there was a scream.

 

 

 

* * *

 

“There is no reason why I have to be denied internship,”

 

“There is one. You’re not fit to be here.”

 

Francis couldn’t believe a word this man was saying.

 

“What do you mean I’m fit here?” He places his hands on the desk staring into the dark eyes of the inspector. 

 

“I will not have some high-school graduate here with us on site. Now run along, I have many things to do,” He turns his back to him, looking into a file cabinet.

 

“Ah, the new intern is here,” He turns around to face a tall, willowy man and his short, stumpy counterpart trailing behind him.

 

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Francis Clarke,”

 

 He looks her and holds out his hand, he glances at it for a quick second before shaking it.

 

“I thought so. When did it happen?”

 

“When did what happen?”

 

“When your father left, I’m assuming that it was about eight or seven years ago.” He looks at him aghast, his partner it seemed, was looking at him with warning eyes.

                                                                                                      

“Nine. You’re off by a year or so. How did you...”

 

“You looked at my hand. You’re unsure on whether or to shake my hand because you are unsure of what my intentions are; it screams Daddy issues, right Watson?” The man, Sherlock looks at, looking at him with pursed lips.

 

“Lestrade, give this boy a hazard suit, she coming with for the next case,”

 

“What case? We have a case and anyways he isn’t qualified.” The phone rings at that instant, the inspector answers it, rolling his eyes at the tall man.

 

 

 

 

 

“‘Thirty-Four Year-Old White Female’, appears to have committed suicide by narcotics,"  
  
"You’re wrong detective." The inspector looks at him puzzled, everyone looking at the short teen. "Little **_boy_** , I know what I see and it is a definite suicide." He glances at the man, crossing his arms before glance at a pill bottle sitting on the table.

 

“Look at that pill bottle. Look how neatly closed it is; there are no scratches or imprints to be found and do you know why that is?” Francis questions, with his back turned against him, looking at the woman’s body. She was wearing expensive clothes, they didn’t seem fit for him for a reason or another.

 

Her neck was slightly bruised; not fully, but she could see the fingerprints.

 

So the killer was male.

 

“They weren’t opened; they were set here by the murderer. Her neck has handprints. By the size of it, the killer could be male.”

 

“He’s right.” The man from earlier walked him; he was wearing the same long black over coat, his eyes unwavering.

 

“Sherlock, I didn’t know you were coming; if you are not going to do any, get out here before you contaminate the evidence.”

 

“Of course I was going to, I told you about the case in advance, didn’t I? The woman was strangled; anyone with two eyes could that.” Sherlock crouches down next to the teen, examining the woman.

 

Francis sees him that he glances at the lips; there was a slight swelling to them, along with her sullen cheekbones.

 

It could’ve been a domestic violence dispute, but it wasn’t.

 

Her body was laid face up; her clothes were in tack, there was no sign of her having a boyfriend or husband. No photos, no rings, no sign for a male’s presence was shown in the upper class apartment.

 

“Lestrade, find out this young lady’s history, find out the possibility of lovers, friends, family whoever you can get, get them. John we’re leaving and you,” He says looking at the boy before leaning over his shoulder.

 

“Keep your back turned and don’t make a sound, _**sweetheart**_. Detective Lestrade had been staring at you for quite some time. I’d keep advise you to keep your guard up.”

 


	2. Mare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis has a dream about Sherlock; the teen discusses the existence of Sherlock's position of being a consulting detective.

 His muscles clenched relaxed and released on top of him. He stared in his eyes with pure unbridled lust, and a hint of affection. His hands traced his hips, kneading his hands on them, digging his nails in.

 

Panting, moaning, groaning and sounds of creaking went throughout the room.

 

In the moment of desire, he flipped him over, overpowering him. The weight had gently topped him; I felt the energy coming off of him flow into the younger male effortlessly.

 

The thrusts became faster; his movement became harder as he lay on back on the bed.

 

He was in true bliss; his body was shaking with pleasure, his heart was racing and it was getting hard to persuade him to even stop.

 

“Sherlock!”

 

He stared at him those emerald eyes; god those eyes.

 

“Sherlo-!”

 

Arms wrapped around his waist, he looked at him as we finished. Their bodies were covered with sweat; he was still inside of him.

 

We moved so that Francis was laying on the bed in the missionary position.

 

 His cock prodded at his entrance, he was looking at him in the eyes, slyly kissing him as he pushed himself in.

 

He bit his bottom lip, stopping himself from letting out any noise as knife pierced his abdomen, silencing his weakened cries.

 

 “I want to hear you Frankie, let it all out," He let out a strangled moan, gripping on to his shoulders.

 

Francis reached the highest peak of tillation; he felt the orgasmic feeling creep up on him, shadowing him in a way.

 

“I‘m coming!” His thrusts drove with urgency, coming with the younger male. He let out a sigh of contentment, Sherlock lay on top of him, and his green eyes looked alluring as the stared into his, giving him shivers throughout his body.

 

He bit his bottom lip, stopping himself from letting out any noise as knife pierced his abdomen, silencing his weakened cries. A laugh, a baritone cackle escape through the older male’s mouth and echoed in the room.

 

And then he woke up in a feverish heat.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Auntie, can I ask you a question?”

 

“Yes, Frankie?”

 

The older, dark-haired woman doesn’t look at the teenage boy, but knowledge’s the presence saying his name.

 

“Have you heard of a man named Sherlock Holmes before?” He sees her back stiffen, she stops flipping the pancakes before saying “I haven’t heard of ‘em before,” Francis raises his eyebrows, glancing up from his novel.

 

“He was the lead consulting detective in the case I shadowed today.”

 

“Consulting detective? What kind of poppycock is that?” He shrugs his shoulders before closing the book, and looked at her, opening his mouth a reply but he didn’t; he takes a chance to glimpse at the clock before realizing he was late.

 

He races to grab his jacket and looks back his Aunt; there was an uneasy feeling going through his body.

 

“Bye Auntie, be safe.”

 

“You too Dear.”


	3. The Raping Part One

“Another damn suicide,” Francis looks up at Anderson, huddled up in his parka, curiously staring at him. “Didn’t Mister Holmes say it yesterday’s was a murder; everything here points to the same case before,” The man scoffs and checks closely at the woman’s body.  
  
  
  
“I wouldn’t value that man’s opinion even if he were my father.”  
  
  
  
This time she had to be in her early teens, about Francis’ age. Similar to the case before, she was strangled. But this one didn’t look like one of domestic violence; it was anger and resentment behind it.  
  
  
  
He or she wanted her well and dead.  
  
  
  
Unlike the previous case, this woman wasn’t as wealthy; on the contrary she was looked more like a beggar. The apartment she was in was nearly ragged, it looked like it would fall apart in the mere seconds that the forensics were in it, checking out DNA and clues of her death.  
  
  
  
There was another Francis noticed that the team would see in a minute or so; her jeans were ripped at the crotch and dried blood was visible.  
  
  
  
She had been raped, brutally at that much.  
  
  


“Charlie, issue a rape kit on this girl, Veronica, be sure not to let him in…”  
  
  
  
“To whom are you addressing Anderson?”  


All but Anderson look up to see the man of warning, Sherlock arrive, along with his companion. There something different about it but I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it.

 

Something weirder was going on with him, something stranger than his own existence.


End file.
